


Kitten Without a Whip

by genteelrebel



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a light, smutty, kinky, Halloween-themed PWP.  After going trick or treating with Amanda, the boys indulge in a bit of post-Halloween role playing. It's proof that Immortals and candy-corn induced sugar highs can be a very dangerous combination!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitten Without a Whip

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story contains animal roleplaying and some hints of domination/submission, but, as advertised, there are no whips. My apologies to any of my readers who are disappointed. :)

Methos awoke, calm and happy, just as the clock struck ten. The fact that there was a crushed piece of orange and yellow candy corn attached to his chin didn’t shake the mood in the slightest. *Immortal Halloween,* he thought to himself. *Not a thing to be missed…* 

Last night’s festivities had certainly been something to remember. Oh, it wouldn’t have happened at all if it hadn’t been for Amanda, which was one mild fly in the ointment. But seeing as Methos was the one who had ended up in Duncan MacLeod’s bed, it really was petty of him to let such mild considerations get in the way. *Very petty, indeed,* he thought to himself, rolling over to see one of his favorite sights in the world: Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, hair deliciously disheveled from sleep, propped up one arm and surveying Methos with pointed lust. The sexy brown eyes seemed to be paying particular attention to Methos’s chest, and after a moment Methos looked down, to see three or four Red Hots embedded in his sparse chest hair. “Oops,” he said, unable to suppress his spontaneous grin. “Guess that’s what I get for insisting we eat our Halloween candy in bed.” The Highlander’s lust just seemed to increase. “Think you can help me with those?”

Duncan pounced on him, licking at the offending candy until their stickiness loosened and he was able to suck each Red Hot into his mouth. Methos sighed happily, letting his muscles sag into the mattress as the sweet pleasure of having Duncan’s mouth on him shivered through his body. He expected Duncan to kiss him when the last candy had disappeared, to share the spicy cinnamon flavor that would be lingering on his tongue—but he didn’t. Instead the Highlander started rubbing his chin against Methos’s chest, his mane of dark hair falling forward to cover his face. Methos, a little surprised, curled his fingers into the soft dark mass. He tickled one of Duncan’s shoulders with the ends. “Duncan, you’re acting like a cat.” The rubbing continued without abatement. Methos smiled. “Oh, I see. We *are* a cat this morning, are we?”

His only answer was a slight purr, and a sudden lapping of a soft wet tongue against his fingers. “And such a pretty kitty, too,” Methos murmured, taking a lock of Duncan’s dark hair in his free hand and stroking it thoughtfully. “MacLeod?” No answer. “Duncan?” Still no answer, although the tongue progressed up his fingers and began lapping at the very center of Methos’s wrist. The shudder that went through Methos’s entire body was delicious in the extreme, but he forced himself to gently prod Duncan in the forehead until his lover lifted his head. “Mac? Is something wrong?”

The Highlander sighed, clearly aggrieved to be forced to use words. “You were the one who said I needed to learn to be more playful,” he said succinctly, and went back to licking Methos’s fingers.

Methos shivered, torn between the desire to just let Duncan do what he would and the need to truly understand what was going through his lover’s head. Reluctantly, he decided on the latter. “Yes, and you take my advice *so* very often,” he responded, hearing Duncan respond with a very un-kitten like snort. “Believe me, I’m delighted to know that you listened. But I think I should make sure we’re on the same page before we go any further.” 

Duncan heaved a hefty sigh and sat back on his haunches, a slightly pained “why are you still talking when we could be having sex?” expression on his face. Methos sympathized, but stuck to his guns. “Just a few questions,” he promised. “First: Why a cat? Role playing I can understand, even animal role playing, but I always figured you for more of a lion or tiger or bear sort of man. Stallion, maybe. Wombat, even. Not a cat.” 

Duncan’s pained expression intensified. “You were the one who couldn’t keep his eyes of Amanda’s tail last night.”

“Ah.” Now Methos understood. Amanda’s choice of Halloween costume had taken him by surprise. If you’d asked him ahead of time, Methos would have expected Amanda to show up in some kind of barely-there slave-girl outfit that showed off her chest and legs, or else an elaborate custom-made Louise the XIVth gown that would show off her favorite illegally acquired jewels. Instead, Amanda had arrived on the Immortal’s doorstep in a simple black cat suit, complete with clip-on ears and a tail that could be purchased in any dime store. “The airport lost my luggage,” she’d said airily when Methos had been snarky enough to comment on this. “Besides, I just wanted to wear something I could have fun in. We’re going trick or treating.”

“We are?”

“Yes. *We* are.” 

She’d said it with so much determination that Methos had known it would come to swords if he said no. At least, that’s what he told himself, when after a mere five minutes of arguing he found himself giving in. No way was he going to admit that he’d picked up any of Mac’s depressing susceptibility to Amanda’s pretty brown eyes. It was enough that Duncan had managed to ferret out Methos’s long-abandoned conscience and sense of guilt. He wasn’t prepared to “catch” any more of the Highlander’s annoyingly anti-survival character traits, no matter how in love with the man he might be. “I don’t have a costume,” he’d said, but it was a sign of defeat and both he and Amanda had known it. “Neither does Mac.”

“The drugstore on the corner’s already set out a clearance bin. I’ll give both of you five dollars. Now help me convince Duncan, and we’ll go!”

She’d dragged them to the corner store where she had indeed given them the promised five dollars each, although Methos privately suspected that Mac would find a twenty missing from his wallet when he got around to checking it. But somewhere between the dojo and the store both Methos and the Highlander had gotten into the spirit of the occasion, and they’d had a ridiculously good time trying on masks and costumes. Duncan had eventually purchased a red toy light saber, a cheap plastic Darth Vader mask, and a child’s black cape which he flourished while announcing “Luke! I am your father!” to any and all passersby. Methos had picked up a red bandana and a truly appalling leatherette toy gun holster, tying one around his face and buckling the other around his hips before he and his companions started ringing doorbells and chanting “Trick or Treat!” The innocent home owners of Seacouver never stood a chance. If anyone had any objections about distributing candy to three former (very former!) children, a purr from Amanda or a quick lift of the Vadar mask to reveal one of Mac’s trademark million dollar smiles quickly quelled their doubts. The three Immortals had trysted late into the night, fed by the unique combination of good companionship and a massive sugar high…

And yes, Amanda’s tail had twitched most enticingly all evening long, especially when Mac had suggested they race between houses and she’d gone sprinting along the sidewalks in her little kitten heels. Still, Methos couldn’t allow the Highlander’s comment to pass. “Look who’s talking,” Methos said, suppressing a moan as Duncan licked along his thigh. “If I recall, you spent most of the evening with your attention evenly divided between Amanda’s tail and my ass. It was amazing that you didn’t trip and spill all the candy.”

Duncan muttered something. It sounded suspiciously like “your own fault if I did.” Methos raised an eyebrow. “My fault? Why?”

A gusty sigh. “You were the one who picked that silly gun belt to wear.”

Methos still didn’t get it. “So?”

“So.” Duncan gave up on his licking and sat back on his heels, a very disgruntled look on his face. “The plastic guns were just heavy enough to make your jeans ride even lower on your ass than usual. I couldn’t look away.”

“Duncan MacLeod.” Methos was appalled. “Are you honestly telling me that I trick-or-treated through half of Seacouver risking arrest for indecent exposure, and neither you nor Amanda bothered to say anything?”

“It wasn’t indecent. Nothing you could get arrested for showing showed. It was just…suggestive,” Duncan answered. 

He dropped to his hands and knees and walked on all fours to the foot of the bed, undulating his spine in a very feline way. Methos felt his cock leap as his entire body reacted to the sight. “All right,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sudden burst of lust he felt out of his voice. “I suppose I really should encourage this playful streak of yours. Heaven only knows when it might come again. But if you’re a handsome kitty—and I must admit you’re doing a very good job of convincing me—what am I supposed to be? Salt lick? Scratching post? Furry cat-nip mouse?”

“I’ll let you know.” Duncan dropped to his belly, his magnificent pour of a body draped over the foot of the mattress. He started rubbing Methos’s feet with his cheek.

Oh. Methos didn’t know which was sexier: the sight of the Highlander crouching at his feet, or the knowledge that Duncan was finally secure enough with him to really play a game. “I can live with that,” he said, and was rewarding with a seductive lap of Duncan’s tongue right across the most sensitive part of his instep. “God!”

Duncan gave him what could only be described as a Cheshire grin. And the game began.

The Highlander really was very thorough, Methos thought about fifteen minutes later. Duncan had caressed each of Methos’s toes, and then started working his way upward…sometimes rubbing, sometimes kissing, always making sure that every single inch of Methos’s skin received its fair portion of his attention. It was as relaxing as it was arousing, and Methos felt himself slipping into on oddly happy haze as Duncan continued his ministrations, recalling some of genuine members of the cat tribe who had deigned to share his company during his long life. The beauties of the Egyptian court who had inspired centuries of worship. Grainne of the golden eyes, whose queen-like grace had belied her ability to keep an entire 10th century Irish monastery free from mice. Old Lady Gray-Boots, the one-eyed harridan who had performed a similar service for Butch and Sundance’s gang, somehow managing to turn up at every camp no matter how many miles the band traveled during the day. (Methos had always suspected Sundance of secretly smuggling her into his saddlebags, but he’d never caught him red-handed.) And finally Isaac, the gentle runt of a tom who had shared Methos’s lodgings during the 1920's, when he had worked for the Watchers by day and written science fiction stories long into the night. The memories made Methos wonder what Duncan would look like should he ever reincarnate into the body of cat, and that made him wonder something else about their current game, something so vitally important that Methos wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. “Duncan?”

“Mmmmmrrrrrrrreooow?”

“Are you a boy cat or a girl cat?”

Duncan lifted his head from where he had been busy nuzzling Methos’s nipples, seeming incredulous that Methos would interrupt him. “Does it matter?”

“Oh, it matters intensely, my love.” Methos smiled seductively as he regarded the Highlander with half closed, bedroom eyes. “Girl cats are notorious teases. They get to run and bite and play all night, until they finally spread their legs and howl as they get the fucking of their lives from the male of their choice. Whereas boy cats—” Methos slid his hand down the Highlander’s belly and took his cock in his hand, reveling as always in the lovely way the firm length filled his palm—“Boy cats are the hunters. They use all their skill to stalk the females until they finally catch one they can cover and thrust into with all their considerable strength. Which are you?”

Duncan didn’t answer. But he suddenly slid one arm under Methos’s shoulders and another under his knees, turning Methos onto his stomach so quickly he didn’t have a chance to object. A pair of muscular Highland thighs settled on each side of Methos’s hips and a pair of strong warrior hands pushed Methos’s shoulders into the covers, leaving the old Immortal irrevocably pinned. Methos wriggled to test Duncan’s strength and determination. He could move a few inches, but no more, which was even more of a turn on than everything else Duncan had done thus far that evening. Methos dearly loved being at the other man’s mercy. *Hmmm. Looks like MacLeod’s the hunter and I’m his appointed prey,* he thought. *Lucky me!*

Duncan didn’t force his advantage, though. Instead he shifted, settling into a crouch over Methos’s upper back while his clever kitty tongue lapped all the way down Methos’s spine to the cleft of his ass. Methos moaned as Duncan found the sensitive circle hidden there, and started licking at it with an enthusiasm that made Methos’s fingers curl. God, and to think he’d always believed MacLeod had a natural aversion to rimming! Hot liquid softness caressed him, sending thrills of pleasure down his legs to his toes and up his spine to his hairline. The sensations were so intense--and so completely unexpected--that Methos shifted his hips awkwardly against the bed, knowing that he would start helplessly frotting the blankets and climax if Duncan didn’t stop soon. “ Duncan …”

Duncan stopped the pleasurable assault and butted his head against the back of Methos’s thigh, indicating in as feline a way as possible that Methos should change position. Gratefully Methos scrambled to comply, moaning when his cock, finally free of the restrictions of the bed, bounced and throbbed urgently as he knelt on hands and knees. He spread his leg as shamelessly as any cat in heat ever did, while Duncan…ever considerate of Methos’s pleasure, no matter what game they played…grabbed the lube out of the bedside table. He quickly anointed both Methos and himself, carefully spreading Methos open with his fingers. The feeling of himself throbbing around Duncan’s gently stretching fingers was intoxicating; Methos moaned again as Duncan indulged himself and thrust his fingers deeper into Methos’s welcoming heat, wiggling the fingers in a way that had Methos seeing sparks behind his eyelids. “Need you,” he grunted, and heard Duncan give a maddening little purr. “Duncan. Now. No more games. I need you in me, now.”

He couldn’t see it, but he heard Duncan chuckle, and suspected that the Highlander was wearing a very maddening little grin. Something warm and blunt pressed up against Methos’s ass. Methos tried to thrust back onto it, but two broad hands settled on his hips, holding him still as the Highlander rubbed his cock up and down over his entrance without actually thrusting inside. “Got you,” Duncan said, with a very feline sing-song. “You’ve led me quite a chase, but now I’ve got you. You’re all mine.”

“Yes.” Unbelievably needy now, Methos balanced himself on one hand and reached back with the other. He was desperate to grab the Highlander’s straining length with his fingers, desperate to pull him inside. Duncan swatted his hand away as perfunctorily as a kitten would swat a toy mouse, and Methos dropped the hand back to the blanket, but not before he had a chance to feel Duncan’s unusual size and heat. “Jesus, Duncan, you feel so big,” he murmured, knowing that he sounded like a ditzy starlett in a cheap porn flick but not caring in the slightest. “So big and hard…”

“Mmmm, yes. Hard for you.” Still rubbing in that maddening way, making Methos wonder if he was going to come without even getting the Highlander inside, Duncan licked his way up Methos’s back. Methos yelped when he felt blunt teeth suddenly bite into his shoulder. “I scented you, chased you, fought off a dozen other males for you…and now you’re mine. I’ve got you cornered, and you’re going to give me what I want.” Duncan jabbed with his hips, still not entering, but giving Methos’s needy entrance such a jolt of pressure and pleasure that Methos had to swallow a yelp. “You’re going to let me mount you, going to let me take what’s mine. You’re going to hold up your ass and let me spear you deep, and after I’ve had my fill of thrusting in and out you’re going to let me take you deeper still. You're going to scream as I pump you full of kittens. Aren’t you, Methos.” Another gentle bite accented the question. “Aren’t you.”

“Yesss,” Methos hissed. “Yes. Now.”

“Now.” 

Duncan grabbed him firmly and gave a virile thrust. There was a moment of almost painful pressure, then an incredible rush of slickness and heat as his muscles gave way and Duncan pushed inside. Another thrust and Methos was impaled to root, speared, just as Duncan had promised. Duncan gave him no time to recover but merely thrust again, his super-aroused girth rubbing Methos ruthlessly inside and out. “Oh, god, so good,” Methos moaned aloud, the words coming out as broken sobs. “Yes. Take me…”

“Mine.” Duncan set up a punishing rhythm, strong thighs slapping into Methos's backside as they rocked together. His thrusts were so powerful, so animal, that Methos was forced to dig his fingers into the bedspread to keep himself from being pushed off the mattress. Duncan arched over him. Methos could feel the Highlander’s chest hair rubbing against his back and his pubic hair tickling his ass, adding to the illusion that Methos really was a capricious pussycat who’d been captured by a particularly strong and virile male. “Yes,” he said, needing this to be finished, needing to have everything and have it right now. “Come for me. Please...”

The Highlander’s breath was hot on his neck. “Scream,” Duncan commanded, and it was no problem whatsoever for Methos to comply; no problem at all to let a completely feline howl escape his throat as that hot pulsing length fucked deeper still and Methos exploded, cock spurting over the bedspread. Duncan thrust once, twice, three times more and howled his own completion, following Methos down to the bed as Methos’s arms finally gave way. He collapsed in an inelegant heap on his stomach, Duncan covering him completely. 

They stayed there for a moment, Methos’s gloriously used ass still clenching around Duncan’s cock in happy spasms, Duncan himself moaning softly as the aftershocks rolled through him. Then the Highlander withdrew, very, very carefully turning Methos onto his back and pulling him into his arms. “All right?” he asked.

“Mmmm. I should say so.” In truth, Methos’s entire body felt wonderfully tired, like he’d died and actually gone to heaven instead of being resurrected back into painful everyday life. Duncan smiled and scooted them both up the bed, settling down into the pillow with Methos still cradled into his arms. He looked, Methos thought, almost indecently sated. “You seem happy,” Methos observed.

Duncan reached out and collected a few drops of semen that were still clinging to Methos’s spent cock. He brought the pearly liquid to his lips. “Mmmm-hhhmmm,” he agreed. “Cat who got the cream.”

Methos experienced an intense urge to thump him…puns like that should not be allowed in civilized society. But he resisted and kissed the man soundly instead, teasing the remains of his flavor from the depths of Duncan’s tongue. “Well, I hope that this cat has a lot more than nine lives,” he said when they finally broke for air. “I think I like playful you.” 

“Do you?”

“Yes. I do indeed.” Methos trailed his fingers over Duncan’s beautiful chest, surveying the room: the wreck of the bed, the crushed candy corn and chocolate wrappers liberally bespeckling Duncan’s prized wooden floors, the pieces of their dime store costumes still lying where they had dropped them. Methos’s eyes caught on his own abandoned gun belt, lying in a heap just in front of the bedside table. After a moment’s long stretch, Methos managed to hook his fingers around the holster, and heaved both guns and belt onto the bed. Duncan just continued to lie there, a goofy grin on his face. “Duncan?”

“Yes, Methos?”

“Want to play cowboys?”

The End

10/31/06

Revised and archived 2/20/15


End file.
